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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047946">The Orphan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvocationAndToccata/pseuds/InvocationAndToccata'>InvocationAndToccata</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends to the Rescue, Gen, Human Trafficking, Isolation, Makeup, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm makes a lot of tea, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slavery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:43:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvocationAndToccata/pseuds/InvocationAndToccata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Months ago a new life came for Malcolm when he least expected it. Alone in a foreign country, he exists from one day to the next, biding his time until he can escape. </p><p>Then one day while making tea a visitor might change all that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As The Orphan woke from another fitful night's sleep he stared at the rough dark plaster on the walls and tried to remember what day it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In truth he had no idea. He hadn’t for months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His room was nothing better than a converted closet, hastily cleared when his night terrors scared the other 'employees'. They locked him in each night, with the same small mat tucked into the corner of the earthen floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Orphan stands on his mat and moves through his basic daily stretches in his worn tunic and pants, the only pair of clothes he was allowed to keep. When he is finished he draws his hands together and whispers his daily affirmation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I am Malcolm Bright, and I will escape one day."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the only English he spoke now, and the most words he would string together for the entire day. He wasn’t exactly popular among the other workers, and none of them spoke English anyway. It’s not like they would make for solid conversation.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory of how he came to be here is seared into his mind as if it was yesterday. A mysterious jab in his neck as he walked home one day followed by waking up on a ship already out to sea. Losing days to seasickness and benzo withdrawal before arriving in a mystery port. Nobody spoke English, so Malcolm leaned on his profiling skills even more to interpret what they wanted him to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered being forced to change into cream linen pants and a black button up shirt, with the top half of the buttons missing so his chest is on display before getting escorted to a large room on the ship. Thirty other people of mixed ethnicities waited in silence, waiting to find out why they had been gathered together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a sinking suspicion that this was a human trafficking ring, and he had been in no position to help himself or anyone else. Nobody said a word, the guns in the holsters of the crew saw to that. When the doors opened and a procession of men entered the room Malcolm’s fears proved correct. They were all of wealth and standing, the crew’s deference assured him of that. All of the guests raked their eyes over the people trapped in the room as one would inspect merchandise. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Because to them, that’s what they were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room wasn’t occupied long, some taking mere minutes to decide if someone was what they were looking for. Malcolm wasn’t as lucky. Three men were transfixed by his features, and Malcolm knew that his time on the boat was at an end. Sure enough, a vigorous shouting match began in front of him, the staccato barks reverberating through the profiler’s skull. Malcolm closing his eyes was all he could do to stop himself from shutting the conversation down with a few swift kicks. He knew he wouldn’t survive such a transgression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slap to his face had forced his eyes open again as an Asian man with salt and pepper hair and a mandarin style suit shouted something that stopped the other two men in their tracks. They slunk away leaving Malcolm staring at the man who he suspected had just bought him. The polished man smiled and crooked a finger at the profiler, speaking in heavily accented English. “Come with me, Orphan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the only instruction he would understand for the next few weeks. His buyer reverted to his native tongue after that single order, and it wasn’t one that Malcolm recognized. He assumed Mandarin or Cantonese, but it mattered not which one it was. Malcolm wasn’t fluent in either one. As he was bundled into an armored SUV with jet black windows the glimpses of billboards and signs yielded no clues to his location either. Any signs were only adorned with characters, there wasn’t a hint of any letters. He wasn’t anywhere close to a tourist trap, or someone that could help him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm asked a few questions about what was happening and was rewarded with more slaps for his trouble, after the third hand print stung across his cheek he wisely closed his mouth for the rest of the journey. The man that bought him pulled his phone out and the pit in Malcolm’s stomach dropped further. The phone had biometric security on it, and Malcolm couldn’t decipher how to make a call from the characters on the screen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrived at an expansive mansion with heavy security and he was shown to a small cloakroom where he was required to change into a simple servant’s uniform. In the next few days he would learn the words he needed to remember to be able to survive. He couldn’t write them down in this new language, but a few jabs to his ribs were enough of a prompt to recognize them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Orphan. Tea. Come Here! Kneel. Sir (when in company) and Master (when his owner was alone).  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the space of a few days Malcolm Bright had been transported from a life that had pain but purpose to one that held no purpose at all. The pain remained, and try as he might he had been unable to shut the door on that part of his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him didn’t want to. He had to believe he could escape one day. There was nothing to do right now but wait to be let out, when another interminable day would begin again. As he waits for the door to be unlocked Malcolm takes stock of how far he’s come in conquering his claustrophobia since he came to be in this glorified prison. The first night they locked him in the closet Malcolm didn’t sleep at all, memories of his time at Remington replayed in his mind all night. He ended up having to sit on his hand to stop the shaking, and spent all night staring at the door waiting for it to open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, all these months later he is finally able to rest a few hours each night. They’ve never once forgotten him in the closet, always opening it the next day. A part of his primal brain was soothed by the routine, much to his chagrin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally the key to the lock rattles into life and the door swings open. The voice barking the order at him is already walking back down the corridor, expecting Malcolm to follow him. The profiler didn’t need to hear the words to know what the man had said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Lái gū'ér</span>
  <span>.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come, Orphan.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Months in this prison, and they’d never asked what his name was. Or bothered to give him one. He was simply Orphan now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walk to the next room was swift, and Malcolm prepared for the next part of his morning routine. He stripped off his weathered tunic and changed into the oversized crisp black linen uniform before waiting to be groomed. The Master had a very specific aesthetic that Malcolm had to meet. His hair was combed and trimmed, pomade used to hold his hair in place. The shaving was the most embarrassing part of the ritual, having to sit still while the other house staff shaved his face. They’d made him do it himself when he first arrived, but when Malcolm had managed to Macgyver himself a taser out of the components in an attempt to escape he was no longer allowed near the device. Once his facial hair was removed a maid of Indian descent applied the eyeliner to his eyelids, creating a little cat’s eye at the end. The final product resulted in Malcolm looking like he was in his early twenties, innocent and youthful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as his Master wishes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the mansion’s latest purchase his owner loved showing him off whenever he could. In every meeting, without fail, Sir would demand refreshments, at which point Malcolm was summoned from his station against the wall of Sir’s opulent office and would present the jug of hot water and an assortment of herbal teas. As Malcolm attended to his work Sir would trot out the same story every time, his new name turning up more than once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm may not be able to understand the language (it's not like anyone was clamoring to teach him) but he was smart enough to notice familiar words and cadences as Sir regaled his audiences with Malcolm’s tale of woe. No doubt he was painting himself as Malcolm's savior. A generous benefactor who offered him a new life, one Malcolm begged to accept. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's not like Malcolm could object. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation would always follow the same pattern. It would always end up with Malcolm being instructed to kneel beside the table as two words were bandied back and forth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lán sè</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Lǜsè.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When an overweight man grabbed his face in his fat hand one day and barked out “verde” Malcolm finally realized what they were arguing about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The color of his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was what his life had become. A curious object to be trotted out for other people’s amusement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One afternoon a police official had visited the mansion, and as soon as Malcolm recognized the authority this man carried his heart leapt with hope that this might be his chance to escape. Malcolm spent the whole meeting planning what he would say if given the opportunity to speak. When the man joined in on the ‘blue versus green’ debate Malcolm’s heart broke just a little. He wasn’t in a country where law and order ruled above all else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would not allow himself to sink into a pit of misery though. Thanks to being off his meds for the first time in fifteen years he had many old friends and family to keep him company through those long days of waiting with a teapot, helping him determine which people needed something from his captor, and which people his captor needed something from. He invented names for everyone, Gumby the military official in an emerald green suit was by far his favorite person to scrutinize. The man clearly needed something from Sir and he wasn’t very good at asking for it. Every week Gumby would return with a new proposition, and Sir loved to toy with the man before rejecting him time and time again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One saving grace was that Sir had no sexual interest in him. It became clear that man's fascination with his eye color was purely from a curiosity perspective. The man had shown no physical interest in Malcolm, something that he was eternally grateful for. A lot of trafficking victims weren't always so lucky. Malcolm’s presence was a testament to his wealth. Sir owned a beautiful white man simply because he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After months each day would bleed into the next, and Malcolm was never afforded a day off. His life had shrunk to movement between three rooms, his isolation even more pronounced because of his nightmares. None of the other staff wanted to be seen being nice to the crazy kid who had to sleep in a closet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was mid morning one day when the cadence of a voice booming down the corridor as it entered catches Malcolm’s attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It sounds American. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sir never has American guests. The number of guests this man had entertained that could speak English Malcolm could count on one hand. To hear his native accent after so long nearly brought tears to his eyes. Being mindful of his eye makeup Malcolm presses the roof of his tongue to his mouth to stem the flow of tears threatening to spill over. Instead he straightens up and prepares himself to drink every detail of this new visitor in. The man’s jovial mood lights Malcolm up instantly as his words come into focus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They tell me you’ve got some of the best teas in all of Jiaxing. I should have brought my Yankees mug with me!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jiaxing. Somewhere so obscure Malcolm couldn’t even point to it on a map. The shock at finally discovering where he is in the world is nothing compared to what's coming next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes all his training not to collapse on the floor when he realizes who just walked through the door. The man he’s known since childhood looks as good as ever, his smile a mile wide as he enters the office. Malcolm locks eyes with him and the smile falters for a second, before he continues on to the lounge situated in the middle of the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm hopes that this is part of an operation, because that’s all that can explain why Gil is pretending not to know him right now. It’s taking every ounce of his strength not to bolt across to the leather couch and cling to Gil like a life preserver. Instead Malcolm follows Gil’s lead and remains motionless on the edge of the room, impassive until called on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Orphan! Tea!” Sir calls, and Malcolm busies himself with preparations as his cheeks burn when Gil hears his new name for the first time. As Malcolm walks over Sir offers a kernel of truth. “This one can understand English, but doesn’t speak it very often. I wonder what would have happened to him sometimes if I didn’t take him in.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are most generous, to be sure. Hi there. I’m Grant.” Gil introduces himself, sticking a hand out to shake. Malcolm freezes, unsure of how to proceed. He glances at Sir, who nods his approval. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm takes Gil’s hand and smiles without comment. He doesn’t trust his voice right now. It fits within his character anyway. The once profiler busies himself with the cups and brews, when suddenly the teapot is on it’s side and spilling the contents all over the Persian rug on the floor. Malcolm can’t help but gasp, he’s never made such a huge mistake in his whole time here. Sir will make him pay for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Duìbùqǐ xiānshēng” Malcolm blurts out, recalling the words like muscle memory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, Sir.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It is the most frequent phrase he says when his owner has company. HE races to his station to fetch a spare tablecloth and begins to mop up the excess water before it seeps into the floorboards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Sir apologizes for Malcolm’s clumsiness Gil is right by his side, dabbing at the rug to help clear up the mess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it Zhang, it happens all the time. At least it wasn’t coffee, am I right?” Gil offers with a smile, his humor deflecting the movement of his hand towards Malcolm’s pants pocket. Malcolm is so distracted he doesn’t realize how close they are to each other until Gil stands and takes up his seat on the lounge one more time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s skip the tea for today, you can make it up to me next time, alright? Now, let’s talk about contracts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the meeting is dry as Gil discusses security in the US with ease, while Malcolm’s head is pinging with too many questions to keep track of every word said. Too soon the meeting is wrapping up and Gil is shaking hands with the man who owns Malcolm, and his turtleneck and blazer combo is walking out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh bubbles out of his chest at the ridiculousness of it all. Even in a foreign country Gil can’t stay away from his turtlenecks. Once Sir berates him for the mysterious teapot incident he leaves the room in a fury and Malcolm can take a moment to relax. As he crouches down to sit on his feet something pokes him on his thigh. Intrigued, Malcolm slips a hand inside his pocket and pulls out a slip of folded card. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It definitely wasn’t there when he got dressed this morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With trembling hands he opens the paper and sobs at the handwriting. He’d recognize it anywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In Gil’s masculine cursive lies five words that breathe life into his soul once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re coming for you, kid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So after some very enthusiastic comments from our PSon community I have been able to extend this story a little further. This will now be a four chapter minimum story, and I will be posting the next chapter in the next few days. </p><p>To all those who took the time to comment and leave kudos I sincerely appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy the next stage of Malcolm's journey!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm refreshed the teapot for the third time today with twitching fingers. It had been four days since Gil had swaggered into his owner’s office and slipped a note into his pants promising a rescue. So for four agonising days Malcolm had waited for the cavalry to arrive. He guessed a day was all Gil would need to organise the intel from his meeting and save him from a life of servitude. So the first day came and went with little fanfare </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he waited against the wall of Sir’s office on day two he daydreamed about the ornate wooden doors being smashed in and Gil rushing through the void with guns drawn. Admittedly it was a little Hollywood but there was precious little else his mind could focus on at the time. Other scenarios had choppers flying over the house and Gil ziplining down to the ground in full SWAT gear like Liam Neeson. The second day yielded no rescue, and as he was locked into his closet sleep eluded him like a rose on Valentines day. His mind was too wired and his ears pricked up at every sound they could hear, each one sending his heart fluttering that this could be the signal of an imminent escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this effort ended up with Malcolm having to work the next day on zero sleep. He knocked over two cups of scalding water through sheer clumsiness as his owner’s guests barking laughter shattered his distracted visions time and time again. Sir’s tone became sharper and shorter, and Malcolm didn’t need to understand the words to know he was on thin ice. The profiler offered nothing beyond the standard apology, but Sir was no longer assuaged by his half hearted platitudes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third night passed in similar fashion to the second, with barely any sleep. His eyelids drooped with fatigue, and he almost fell asleep when he needed to sit through his morning shave. The other house slaves exchanged nervous glances between themselves as they watched this young Caucasian man slowly unravel as the days wore on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None were willing to ask him about it though. They need to protect themselves first and foremost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm barely notices as the make up brushes spends more time under his eyes, concealing the bags that lay underneath. Sir can’t see just how tired his staff are, they must always present neatly whenever guests are received.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profiler half stumbles to the office and takes his place against the wall, remaining alert only as long as eyes are on him at the start of every meeting. Only loud shouts and thuds can break him out of his trance, and each time his eyes dart to the door. Being on edge with no sleep for three days has utterly worn him out. Malcolm rests the teapot on the dresser beside him and crosses the study floor to deliver the tea, but in his exhaustion he misses a ruffle in the floor rug. The toe of his shoe catches in the void and is enough to send the two jade green cups flying onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm groans internally and waits for the barrage of abuse to start. The jade green cups are Sir’s luckiest cups, the ones he is most fond of for high ranking dignitaries. He waits on his knees as Sir’s fury propels his body from his chair and has the diminutive man bearing down on Malcolm. The words fly over his head, but as the tongue lashing heads into a second minute Malcolm has zero fucks left to give. Gil should have broken him out by now, there’s no good reason for him to put up with this anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shut up.” Malcolm spits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The act of his slave talking without permission shocks Sir into silence. Before the man can regroup Malcolm goes all in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was abducted and you bought me like some </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is wrong and you know it. You should let me go before things get worse for you. I won’t work for you anymore, I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm watches his captor’s body very closely for clues, so when the man’s upper body tenses Malcolm closes his eyes and relaxes as best he can before the slap connects with his face. The force is enough to send him sprawling on the floor, the skin on his cheek burning from the friction. As he lies dazed on the floor Sir barks orders at the office porter, and before Malcolm knows what’s happening he’s being dragged by his hair out of the office and back towards the staff quarters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grip on his hair is tight and he knows for sure he’s lost some strands during his struggle on the floor. He settles to holding his hands either side of the one grasping his hair and that relieves some of the pressure. When they reach his closet quarters Malcolm is thrown to the floor as the door is kicked in and his prone body is dragged into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door locks behind him and the only light is through his small window set a few inches below the ceiling. His heart hammers away in his chest as the adrenaline of finally confronting his captor burns through his body, overcoming the exhaustion in his bones for a few precious minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crash after the confrontation isn’t nearly as pleasant, and his shaky hands return with full force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to do anything in his room Malcolm stills and listens out to the sounds around him once again. He’s guessing he’ll be stuck in this room until the next morning as punishment for talking back in front of guests, but it was worth it for the few seconds of satisfaction. It won’t mean a thing when Gil rescues him any day now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are more sounds outside his room while the daylight hours linger. Trolleys rattle past, feet scuff the floor and the distant sounds of clattering from the kitchen can be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm finds himself tuning out to the rattle and hum of the busy household, barely noticing when his body slumps to the floor and he closes his eyes for just a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dreams of his father stabbing Sir replay over and over in his head that night, and a part of Malcolm wishes they were true as he drags his mind from slumber. His window casts an orange rectangular glow on the plaster opposite, telling Malcolm that he has slept through to the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankful that his punishment is almost over Malcolm busies himself with his stretches and waits for the door to be unlocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The orange glow shifts to a yellow one before settling on a stark white shade, with shadows where the trees outside sway back and forth across the small glass pane. A knot begins to form in Malcolm’s stomach. They always open the door before the dawn sun can rise to a yellow one in his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shouts outside his door become more pronounced, and Malcolm watches each pair of shadow feet passing by his door closely for a pair that are stopping in front of his closet to release him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm watches the shadow of the leaves move across the rectangle as the sun tracks its way across the sky, Morning becomes afternoon, and still there is no sign of any reprieve from his prison. The familiar calm that he has grown accustomed to in this room is giving way to the panic he felt as a teenager. He knows it’s been almost twenty four hours since he was locked away without food or water. He had to convert the corner nearest the door into a toilet earlier this morning, and the smell of ammonia in the closed space was beginning to burn his nostrils.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs out of here, and fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the white light begins to turn to grey as the sun sets on the opposite side of the house Malcolm swallows his pride and kneels in front of the door. Raising both hands he holds them a few inches away from the wood before calling out,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm waits a moment to listen for the sound of footfalls. Hearing none he then beats on the door for all he’s worth for a good thirty seconds, continuing to yell at the same time in the hopes of attracting someone’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shadow crosses the gap underneath the door and Malcolm ceases all banging, waiting for the telltale snick of the padlock opening. There’s nothing but silence. Not sure if he’s supposed to apologise Malcolm hangs his head and declares “I’m sorry” through the locked door. The feet shuffle ever so slightly before a voice answers his call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not today, Orphan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shoes spin on the spot and return back the way they came. Despair overwhelms Malcolm as his breathing hitches, gasping for air but not breathing deeply enough for it to reach his tissues. He faces another night in this tiny room with no means of escape, and no sign of Gil. Malcolm crawls on hands and knees to his sleeping mat, dimly aware that he’s going to be passing out soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the corners of his eyesight begin to darken he imagines Gil kneeling beside him in a cream turtleneck and tan blazer, his eyes sparkling with fondness. As the last threads of consciousness sever themselves Malcolm imagines Gil’s voice reassuring him one more time:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re coming for you, kid.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>*********</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes to the light outside his window is dark, not even a hint of twilight remains. The sounds of the house are nowhere to be found, and Malcolm knows that it will be almost two days of being locked away in this closet before he will be freed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lack of light makes the walls feels even smaller, and in his dehydrated state his mind begins to imagine objects in the space so his eyes have something to focus on. Instead of familiar friends for company his eyes imagine the slats on the janitor’s closet in Remington Academy, casting a blue glow on the opposite wall. The ammonia from his own mess now resembling the cleaning agents that kept him company over that tortuous weekend as a teen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm shuts his eyes, desperate to imagine a place that doesn’t send his heart into palpitations or make him feel lightheaded, but when he is so malnourished and sleep deprived his mind is only capable of making the shortest creative leaps possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After ten minutes, or an hour, he can’t even tell anymore, Malcolm turns his back on the taunting lights and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. The taunting of Nicky rings in his ears, building and building until he jams his hands over his ears and yells over the jabs and jibes to drown them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm isn’t sure how long he was yelling for but a sliver of yellow light under the door tells him it was long enough. A single pair of footsteps stomp up to his door and for a moment Malcolm wonders if this will be enough to free him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead the door rattles violently and a shout of “Quiet Orphan!” is all he hears before the footsteps recede and the light disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness and silence return, and with it the soft voice of the boy who imprisoned Malcolm as a teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Malcolm. Whitly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies for the delay in this chapter, life got away from me a little there! Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments on the last chapter, they feed my enthusiasm for writing. </p>
<p>Chapter Four will be a while away, I hope this will tide you all over until then.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After a morning of pacing to try and keep his muscles active Malcolm spends the morning leaning against the wall on his mat dozing. He’s not ready for the padlock to be opened and two packages to be thrown against the wall. Before Malcolm’s weary body manages to scramble to the door the wood is sealed shut once again and the padlock snicks back into place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cursing himself for missing the opportunity Malcolm throws his weight against the door with the loudest yells of “HEY!” and “LET ME OUT”, mostly to work out his frustration against being trapped in this closet for another day. He turns his attention to what was thrown in his prison and finds a large bottle of water and a thermos. When he opens the thermos the scents of honey and soy curl into the air. After two days of nothing passing his lips his mouth begins to water instantly, the sweet aromas triggering the loudest stomach growl Malcolm’s ever heard from his own body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes everything he has not to start shovelling fingerfuls of rice and sauce into his mouth that second, but the rational side of his brain holds his hands steady to formulate a plan. Water and food means they intend to keep him here for another day, so this needs to last. Thankfully the thermos will keep the dish hot for a few hours, so he resolves to eat and drink small amounts often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last of the rice is gone as the orange sunset glows on the wall, taking with it the opportunity to see six inches in front of his face. The meagre meal sharpens his focus, and for the first time in a day he’s not haunted by bullies from his past. He sleeps fitfully, but with no nightmares, and when day breaks above him Malcolm moves directly across from the door. The next time it opens there is no way that it’s closing again with him inside it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Muscles coiled tighter than a spring in readiness for his ambush burn in anticipation, so much that the profiler resorts to bouncing on the balls of feet to dissipate some of the nervous energy. The minutes bleed into hours, yet Malcolm’s focus remains on the eight slats of wood in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, a shadow darkens his doorstep. Then the thud of the padlock butting against the latch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s got seconds to make this work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t leave anything to chance. The second the metallic clunks give way to silence the man lunges at the door, using his momentum to force the door wide open. Rice covers the floor from the thermos that was to be his meal for the day, and the grains squash under Malcolm’s feet as he bolts towards the door. The startled kitchen hand recovers enough to shout a warning down the corridor, but all Malcolm can think of is reaching the front door and gaining his freedom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrenaline courses through his veins as the other house staff hug the walls when he sprints past them, not even thinking about how terrifying his haggard look must seem to them. After a sharp corner the ornate front door is within his sights, but the shouting that was behind him now seems to be echoing from in front of him. At the top of the staircase in the expansive foyer three of Sir’s security team are flying down the stairs. Malcolm doesn’t know if he’s got enough speed to outrun them but he’s going to try anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crashes into the door at full speed, a deep thud resonating from his shoulder at the impact. Ignoring the bump he grabs for the handle to open the heavy door and run into the lush garden outside. The brass length gives way but the latch remains firmly closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is locked with keys he doesn’t have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hoping that maybe he jostled the door a bit too much when he crashed into it Malcolm pulls the door towards him and tries the handle again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door still won’t budge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By this time the men on the stairs have caught up and waste no time pinning the slight man against the wall and wresting his hand away from the handle. Two men each take an arm and lift it painfully behind Malcolm’s back and in line with his shoulder blades, immobilizing his upper body. The duo spin Malcolm around and march him back to his prison, oblivious to the food scattered on the floor.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The vice like grips on his arms release him at the same time a pressure on his spine propels him back into the pungent closet he calls home. Malcolm doesn’t regain his balance before the door slams shut again, and he is alone once again. The food and water weren’t locked in with him, he doubts after his escape attempt that they will bring him anything else today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the adrenaline fades from his system a few sobs escape from his chest. His only good chance at freedom just went up in smoke, and Gil still hasn’t showed up yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm knows he’s not going to last here much longer. If the lack of food and water won’t get him, the reality of being trapped will. The profiler sinks down to the floor and wipes his mind of all thoughts. Thoughts about home, thoughts about how thirsty he is, thoughts about the people he misses. It hurts too much to think about any of them right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm remains frozen like a statue, unfeeling for a time, until an unusual sound rouses him from his trance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Panicked voices shout in the hallway and the footfalls are fast, yet Malcolm remains trapped in his stuffy prison. He leans against the door with his ear pressed close, desperate to pick up a scrap of information to find out what’s happening. He’s also listening for the sound of someone unlocking his door. Three days of being locked in this tiny cell has Malcolm yearning to look at a wall that’s more than eight feet away.  He’ll beg on his knees if he has to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A loud clatter hits the door and Malcolm jumps back from shock. Before he can regain his footing the door flies open and two security men rush into the cramped space. The taller man’s hand claps on his shoulder and roughly shoves him to the floor while the shorter man jumps on his back and draws his wrists together, securing them with zip ties. Malcolm has no idea what’s going on and his instincts take over, his limbs thrash wildly as he tries to buck the men off. The two men shift their weight so one is sitting on his legs while the other issues a blow to the back of Malcolm’s head. The world pops with sharp fragments of color, and while Malcolm is dazed the man next to his upper body forces a strip of fabric between his lips and secures it behind his head. The cloth is surprisingly soft against his skin, but the wad is thick enough that when the profiler shouts in frustration the only sound that escapes is a quiet muffle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Up, up, now!” Shorty shouts as the two men drag Malcolm to his feet and all but push him out the door barefoot. A strong hand hooked in his elbow drags Malcolm along the corridor, and in his groggy state he is too focused on staying upright to put up much of a fight. He trains his eyes in front of him, scanning the hallways for any sign of what has everyone in such a panic. The flow of people seems to be in the same direction Malcolm is being escorted in, clearly something was happening behind him that the residents all wanted to steer clear of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group fly down hallways on the ground floor towards the back of the mansion, a place that Malcolm hasn’t seen in months. The opulent wall tapestries adorning the wall flap in the breeze blowing in from the open doors beyond them, and more shouting can be heard both inside and outside. Malcolm loses his footing and stumbles for a moment as he is roughly pulled towards the back of the house, where he can see a black SUV parked directly in front of the exit. The front passenger door opens and Sir is shouting frantically at the men guarding Malcolm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zhang is panicked about something, and wherever he is fleeing to he wants Malcolm with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Malcolm leaves this house then Gil will have no way to find him. The realisation wakes Malcolm up and he focuses all of his efforts into delaying his arrival into the car. Malcolm leans back, desperate to slow his path to the waiting car. He thrusts his feet forward and pushes his shoulders back, scrabbling for some sort of purchase on the smooth stone beneath his toes. He gains seconds at best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they walk down the last few steps to the car Malcolm has one final attempt to shake his escort by crouching suddenly and spinning on the balls of his feet. He springs away and manages a few good sprints before the strong hands lock onto his biceps and haul him back towards the car. An anguished cry breaks out of Malcolm’s chest, and he resigns himself to his fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“HEY! STOP!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An American voice yells from the house, and everyone’s heads snap around at the foreign sounding words. Malcolm blinks away tears as he could have sworn his mind is playing tricks on him. Standing in the doorway, gun drawn at the owner of the house is Detective JT Tarmel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody move,” he orders before briefly turning his back to them to shout, “GIL I’VE GOT HIM.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dread weighing down Malcolm’s body lifts as reality sets in. Gil and JT are here, in China, to rescue him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’s not out of danger yet. The grip on his arm is fierce, and the security man holding Malcolm shows no sign of obeying. The second guard has drawn his weapon and aims the muzzle straight at Malcolm’s head, the cool, sleek metal just inches away from his temple. Close enough to inflict a fatal shot if the guy pulls the trigger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone remains frozen for a moment, each side waiting for the other to blink. The spell is broken with the sound of running from inside the house and the out of breath figure of Gil pulls up beside JT. His expression is one of relief and terror at the sight of a gun being pointed at Malcolm’s head. The profiler can see a hundred thoughts flitting across his face as he weighs up how to diffuse the tension in front of him. The uncertainty in his face resolves to a look of determination and he calls out to the car behind Malcolm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zhang! Buddy! I brought my mug, I was hoping to have some more tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t want tea, you want my Orphan.” Zhang shouts back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We both know he’s not yours. Malcolm didn’t choose to be here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm’s heart lifts at the sound of someone else speaking his name aloud for the first time in months. The joy suffuses strength into his spine and he stands up just a little bit straighter. He wants to be ready if Gil needs him to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zhang snorts derisively at Gil’s implication. “How he ended up at the sale is not my concern. I paid for him, he is coming with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why though? He doesn’t look like you’ve been looking after him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I do with Orphan is none of your business. Viet. Car. NOW.” The guard holding Malcolm tenses as he prepares to move. Malcolm fights as much as be can as Gil shouts over the fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really want the US government on your ass? That’s not going to be good for business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait.” Zhang orders his guard to stop. The man must have more skin in the game with trade than Malcolm knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm suspects Gil’s threat is a bluff. If he had the support of the government there’s no way Gil and JT would be the ones mounting a rescue for him. He crosses his fingers that Zhang won’t realise that. Gil presses his advantage while he has one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One phone call and you’ll have so many sanctions your exports will evaporate. I’ve tried asking nicely the last few days, you forced me to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So there was a reason that they had locked him in the closet. They didn’t want Gil getting a glimpse of him while he was fighting for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zhang remains silent for a moment before shouting at Gil and JT. “If you take him now, you leave forever? No phone calls?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise. I just want the kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zhang sighs and barks an order in mandarin at his security team. Malcolm is pushed roughly towards Gil and JT and he stumbles without the use of his hands to steady him. Gil rushes down the steps and catches Malcolm’s shoulders before he hits the deck. While they are preoccupied Zhang and is team walk briskly past the Americans and back into the house, closing the doors behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil’s bluff worked, and the friends are reunited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they straighten up from their fall Gil’s strong arms envelop Malcolm in a hug that threatens to squeeze the air out of his lungs, and the profiler almost collapses in relief. They pull apart and JT has placed himself behind Malcolm working the gag off his mouth and releasing the zip ties around his hands. As soon as arms are free they wrap themselves around Gil, both of their bodies heaving sobs of relief. JT’s hand squeezes his neck in support, and for a minute they remain frozen in place, none of them willing to believe they have found each other again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Malcolm’s face is buried in the warmth of Gil’s sweater he whispers into the soft weave, “How are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil’s gravelly voice replies immediately, “We owe everything to JT.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just about. His contact at the port gave us the information we needed to track you to China. Then a buddy of his in the Army was able to dig up the footage at the dock and introduce us. Without him we were looking for a needle in a haystack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Overcome with gratitude at just how lucky they are he peels himself away from Gil, turns, and squeezes JT in the strongest hug his fatigued muscles can muster. The detective freezes for a moment, before returning the profiler’s hug. It’s the most contact the three of them have ever had but Malcolm doesn’t really care right now. He needs to hold on to one of them like a life preserver, worried that they would float away if he lets go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute JT begins to shift awkwardly in Malcolm’s arms, but the shorter man isn’t letting go just yet. As he fights the feeling of completely falling apart, he gulps down a breath before pouring every ounce of gratitude into one sentence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Jarrad Troy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re getting warmer there, Bright.” JT hums. Malcolm isn’t sure if he’s humoring him or what, but the banter reminds him of home and helps him to process that his ordeal is over. Feeling strong enough to stand under his own steam Malcolm raises his head, squares his shoulders and nods firmly at the man towering above him. His owner didn’t break him, and the profiler is ready to return home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil senses the shift within Malcolm and turns towards the compound’s driveway, resting a guiding hand in the small of Bright’s back. “Alright city boy, let’s get you looked at and get you stateside.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the next chapter might be published under my main account (Hannah_BWTM) so please keep an eye out for the title if I can be bothered to change it (i'm not the best with tech so it could go horribly haha).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Adjusting back to life in the city isn't what Malcolm expected.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was no great fanfare when they arrived back into La Guardia. The trio looked no different to any other exhausted passengers disembarking from a long haul flight, only the smallest man’s face showed hints of anxiety. The bustle of the airport was more sensory input than his mind has seen in months, and the proximity of so many people was making Malcolm’s teeth grind with apprehension. He walks behind Gil and JT, months of being trained to follow behind his owner’s staff was a habit that he has  yet to break. Their bulk was also a shield to the hundreds of people hurrying around them. A black and brown jacket was something he could focus on until they exit the terminal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since his rescue Malcolm has been far quieter than either man is used to. The once vibrant profiler hunches to keep his stature small, his movements are soft and slow, and his voice is nowhere to be heard. After months of doing nothing but observing people and combined with being overwhelmed from so much new sensory input the profiler is satisfied with watching for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Gil and JT begin to search for the taxi rank, Malcolm spots a familiar cap just outside the sliding doors as they walk past. A timid hand reaches out to arrest Gil’s momentum, a part of him bracing internally for the backhand that usually followed interrupting Sir’s movements. When the blow doesn’t land Malcolm opens his eyes and finds pure heart break written all over Gil’s face. He hasn’t managed to hide the wince as much as he thought. There was still so much about his time in captivity that he hasn’t shared and doesn’t know if he will ever be comfortable doing so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the time being Malcolm nods in the direction of what caught his eye. Forgetting that Gil and JT don’t know who to look at in the throng of people there’s confusion in their eyes as they try to figure out his message. Realising he’s going to have to speak Malcolm clears his throat and clarifies softly,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adolpho is here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm is equal parts relieved and disappointed that his mother didn’t make the journey herself. He knows about her dislike of commercial airports, even just to pick up a passenger. Sending Adolpho is a nice touch though, it saves them having to wait in the queue. Gil completes the visual connection first and raises a hand for the driver to let him know his charges are here. The walk to the car is a short one, and soon the trio are safely ensconced in the car and heading back into the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm stares out of the tinted windows as he adjusts to the size and scale of the buildings outside. It all feels foreign to him. Borrowed clothes that feel strange against his skin, bought hurriedly in an airport as they prepared to flee China before Zhang realised their threats were just a bluff.  The sheer enormity of the buildings around him makes him feel smaller with every passing second, and they’re still ten minutes out from his home before it all becomes too much and Malcolm settles for staring at his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT and Gil continue to fill the silence with pointless small talk, all of which washes over Malcolm until a word sticks out and his head snaps up in interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dani’s got your phone at your place, we recovered it from a dumpster after we activated Find My Phone on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm had assumed that they had kept his friend and colleague apprised of their progress, but by the sounds of things she was going to be waiting for him at his loft. Glancing down at the rumpled sweats he’s suddenly embarrassed at what he must look like. JT catches his nervousness and allays his fears immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, she’s not going to care what you’re wearing. You know her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT was right. Malcolm was building mountains in his mind for no reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car rolls to a stop outside Malcolm’s building, and aside from a new tag joining the existing spray paint on his front door the place looks no different to the last time he locked the door and walked away. The storefronts are unchanged, and it is obvious that life just continued on without him, as one would expect a city to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio exit the town car and find the front door unbolted and ready for their arrival. One of the other two must have sent word ahead to Dani. As it was in the airport Malcolm keeps a two step space behind his colleagues, only for them to stop awkwardly on the landing. Malcolm stops on his own step, the height difference between them heading into comical territory. The man eyes his friends curiously while he waits to find out why they’ve stopped. Growing frustrated with the silence Gil rolls his eyes and lays out shortly,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your place kid. We thought you’d want to go in first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat creeps into Malcolm’s cheeks in embarrassment. It didn’t occur for him to enter the room first, and after a hot second to think about it he doesn’t want to, either. Unable to hold Gil’s gaze he drops his eyes to the ground and shakes his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The Lieutenant tries but ultimately fails to mask the sigh of exasperation that huffs from his chest before taking hold of the doorknob and pushing it open. JT follows behind Gil and they both disappear into the entrance leaving Malcolm alone in the stairwell to collect his thoughts before he crosses the threshold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three small steps later and with a few short shuffles Malcolm’s feet carry him into his apartment, where his colleagues stand equal distances apart and wait for his response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm feels…numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is just as he left it. Clean surfaces, bed made so tightly you could bounce a quarter off it, and the light. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>light.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was just so much of it, the contrast unmistakable from his prison in Jiaxing. Before he realises what he is doing Malcolm’s feet propel him to the side of the room against a brick pillar. The feeling of solid wall behind his back is comforting and the natural shadow the bricks make calm his nerves until he is ready to explore on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he feels more comfortable the profiler feels confident enough to meet his friend’s eyes once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pity reflected in their eyes is too much. Gil is on the verge of tears, JT locks onto his face for a moment before looking away to give Malcolm some privacy, and Dani’s face is clouded with sadness. His time in China has changed him in more ways than he realised, and it’s going to be a lot of work on his part to get back to the person he was before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani breaks the silence with a smile that borders on a grimace and twists her body towards the kitchen island.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would anyone care for a drink? I bought options.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee, please.” Malcolm requests. Gil and JT request the same, and Dani heads to the kitchen to boil the kettle. Malcolm watches from his spot on the wall (his </span>
  <em>
    <span>station</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he realises) and spends the whole time the kettle is warming psyching himself up to leave the safety of the clay behind him. As the kettle begins to whistle Malcolm pushes off the masonry and wanders over to where his friends are chatting. He manages a few silent chuckles in response to an old cop story Gil is retelling much to the disbelief of the younger detectives. The knot in Malcolm’s stomach is just beginning to loosen when the aroma of earl grey tea permeates the apartment. In a flash Malcolm is back in Sir’s office, kneeling in front of Gumby as they laugh at his expense. The green man always wanted his tea steeped for longer than was necessary, and the heady mix of spices always gave him a headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The splinter of pain in the front of his brain is back and without the necessity of staying still Malcolm backpedals towards the first room with a door he can find- his bathroom. Ignoring the shouts from his friends the profiler holds his head in both hands and groans in pain until he reaches the safety of the slate tiles beneath his feet. He slams the door, locks it and slides down to the floor, gasping to try and return his heart rate to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Muffled cries of “Malcolm!” permeate the door, but the man can’t bring himself to shout a reply, so he remains silent. He remains unmoving for what seems like hours, even though it is probably only minutes. When the pain subsides and he can no longer smell the bergamot Malcolm opens the door tentatively, unsure of what to expect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He half expects an empty apartment, but to his surprise his friends are still waiting for him. Dani’s face is ashen, and the two men show concern. Figuring he owes them an explanation Malcolm scours his brain for a reason that doesn’t sound pathetic. Deciding that all manage to sound as though they don’t meet the moment Malcolm keeps it simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making tea was my job in China. Earl Grey was a favorite of our guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea Bright, I never would have made myself a cup had I known.” Dani breathes, and Gil is quick to back her up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my fault kid, I told Dani you were working in a house, I didn’t say what I saw you doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay guys, it’s just something that’s going to take a little getting used to. Really, it’s fine. Sorry for freaking you all out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, we work with you. Getting freaked out by you is like a daily recurrence.” JT deadpans. It helps to ease the tension within the group and soon they are back to reminiscing about their early patrol days, with Malcolm smiling easily between them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profiler basks in the warmth of his friends surrounding him, tears prickle the corner of his eyes when he thinks back to the days he thought he would be alone in the world for the rest of his life. His team crossed an ocean to get him back, and this was a debt Malcolm wasn’t sure he could ever repay. The man was so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the laughing trail off around him, and when he comes back to himself all three of his friends are staring with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what did I miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody answers, instead Gil steps towards him and wraps him in a warm hug. Neither of them needs to speak, each knowing what the other is thinking. Malcolm melts into Gil, unwilling to let go until he feels strong enough to face them all again. After a final squeeze Malcolm pulls away and offers Gil a reassuring smile, one that the older man believes this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s been a long couple of days, we’ll leave you to get some sleep.” Gil jerks his head towards the door as a cue for the other two and the trio shuffle towards the door. Dani points to his phone on the island, rattles off an inventory of what she’s left in the fridge and pantry to eat and Gil assures him that his mother has agreed only to visit if Malcolm requests it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JT and Dani hover awkwardly at the entrance, and from the way their eyes are darting down to his body Malcolm surmises they want to show some kind of physical support. JT takes the plunge first and claps a broad hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, his whole body sagging from the unexpected contact. The smaller man offers a watery smile which JT returns heartily. Once his hand drops Dani leans in for a forearm squeeze, and Malcolm covers her hand with his in a moment that feels more intimate than it should. One final smile later and the group depart, the door sealing off Malcolm from the city outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profiler returns to his coffee and savors every drop as his mind processes the myriad of changes that have materialized around him in the last few days. A part of him still can’t believe this is real, but the smooth leather under his fingertips affirms his location every time he starts to wonder if it’s all a dream. The sun light tracks across his apartment until it begins to dim, and a wave of fatigue crashes into Malcolm unexpectedly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many days of travel and jet lag have brought Malcolm to a moment where the need for sleep is undeniable. The heaviness that weighs on his eyelids he can no longer ignore, so with a sigh the man trudges over to his bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sweatpants were thicker than the thin tunic he had worn in China but Malcolm was determined to regain some sense of normalcy from his return home. He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time for a pep talk and heads to his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During the day, the profiler hadn’t really had much of a chance to think about how he would sleep tonight, but now the duvet and restraints loom large as a reminder of just how much his life has changed. The naps sneaked in during the various car and plane rides had been enough to avoid him needing to sleep in a bed at night, now he can’t put it off any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gliding a hand across the soft quilt cover towards the thick leather restraints Malcolm takes a moment to feel both of them against his skin and plunges down the depths of his memory to remind himself that this is how he has slept for years. The images of his closet in Jiaxing flash in his mind, the hard floor beneath his shoulder blades and the closeness of the walls bubble up from his subconscious, a harsh contrast in the finery and softness beneath his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a steeling breath Malcolm sinks a knee into the mattress and climbs into the middle of the bed. He carefully tucks his legs into the duvet before affixing the restraints to his wrists. The leather is a little stiff from months of disuse, and the pressure around his wrists feels foreign. The sinking mattress underneath him is causing his muscles to tense to arrest the momentum of his body. Wiggling back and forth Malcolm shakes his muscles loose and begins a meditation exercise to encourage a more relaxed state. The act of focusing on his breathing goes some way to release the tension in his body, and after half an hour Malcolm manages to doze off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first nightmare isn’t a new one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one is always the first one that visits him every night in Sir’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s become so familiar that Malcolm only needs the first few seconds to place himself back at Remington. Staring through the slits of the ventilation vent, shouting after Nicky to unlock the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only this time when his eyes fly open they aren’t met with the inky void of his prison, rather the bright half moon of Manhattan’s street lights streaming through his open window. There’s too much light, it’s too far away, and his disorientated body is confused about where he is. His heart rate spikes as desperate hands shoot out searching for familiar walls, finding none.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The empty air around him only increases his level of panic and soon Malcolm is straining against the leather buckled around his wrists, limbs thrashing wildly while his body wakes up enough to remember where he is. He sits up with a gasp, pulse racing as he follows the stream of light from his half moon window across his body out to the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New York.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil and JT rescued him from a life of slavery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now his eyes have adjusted to the light he scans the loft to find all the walls where he remembered them. He just needs to lie back and relax, so that’s what he does. Only now he is far too awake and his body is keyed in to the smallest noise- the shower dripping in his bathroom, Sunshine’s feathers rustling, the sirens sounding around the city. The profiler can’t turn off his new sonar, and after forty minutes of jumping at every new sound Malcolm gives up and unbuckles himself from the bed in favor of pacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Muscle memory keeps his pacing track a tight three paces, exactly what he could walk in his closet in China. Malcolm doesn’t notice his movements are small in the expansive space around him, his mind is too preoccupied on how he can get some rest. After ten minutes of pacing an idea ignites in his mind that could solve all of his problems. Malcolm strides over towards his bathroom, but stops short before the entrance. He throws a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if someone could be watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trembling hand opens his suit room, revealing two racks of suits hung on the right hand side and opposite the door. A dresser fills the rest of the back wall space, but underneath the other wall is an empty space. The total space is about nine feet, almost identical to the place he’s been sleeping for the last three months. Malcolm closes the door behind him and instinctively his body instantly relaxes at the lack of light and the closeness of his breath as it hits the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This will do for tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padding back out to retrieve a pillow and a throw to lay on the floor underneath him, he makes quick work of settling himself into the small space. With one final huff Malcolm melts into the hardwood floor underneath him, wrists free and mind blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll wake up before anyone visits tomorrow and no-one needs to know where he finally manages to rest his weary bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-^-^-^-^-^-^</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After five hours sleep Malcolm bolts awake after John Watkins crushes his rib cage in his dreams. The subconscious reminder of that fateful day in the service tunnel from the chocolate brown suit hung proudly on the end of the rack had been enough to dredge up the memory, and phantom bars of pressure on his chest linger as his body catches up to his startled mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From practice he knows that slumber will elude him for the rest of the night, so Malcolm decides to make the best out of a bad situation and re-situates himself with a book on his bed to re-acclimate himself to his bedroom, so the next night might be more successful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The check-in texts start rolling in at 6am, and he replies to each one with the same line-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks for the message, I’m fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The same reply was enough to sate everyone’s curiosity with the exception of his mother, who resorted to phone calls every half hour which Malcolm has studiously been ignoring. With his morning yoga routine completed (and finding out which muscles need stretching out again) next on the agenda is a coffee and a good look through Google to see what he’s missed out on in the world of profiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profiler is so engrossed in his reading he doesn’t notice the hours fly by until the sound of his doorbell buzzing jolts him out of his trance. Assuming it’s his mother, Malcolm tiptoes to his window to spy on his visitor. Instead of a deep brown crown paired with Louboutin heels, a combed back look sprinkled with salt and pepper and chocolate brown suede jacket greets him. The suede arms pull the jacket back to reveal a turtleneck and a very impatient-looking Lieutenant at the graffiti clad door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid, I’m not gonna bite! Now open up!” Gil shouts skyward, not bothering to glimpse Malcolm through the window. He knows the man won’t be anywhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil’s impatience can only mean one thing-there’s a new case to solve. Malcolm bounces across the floor to his intercom and invites Gil up, in the meantime he checks his phone for messages. Besides his mother’s missed calls there’s three from Gil, the earliest was ninety minutes ago. It’s not hard to see why the head of Major Crimes has little patience right now. As soon as the door swings open Malcolm is ready with an apology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry Gil, my phone was on silent and I was reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know city boy, I’ve been getting calls every half hour from your Mom too. Do me a favor and call her. You can do it on the way to our next case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The profiler’s heart rate increases at the mention of a job. “There’s a body? And you want my help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but if you take any longer I might change my mind. How quickly can you get dressed?” Gil asks, nodding towards his closet. If he spies the comforter on the floor the man doesn’t mention it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five minutes. I have just the suit in mind.” Malcolm rushes to his closet and shuffles the coat hangers around until the grey suit is on display. When paired with a light blue shirt and maroon tie it’s one of his favourite outfits, and nothing like the drab colors he was forced to wear during his captivity. His sweats slip off quickly and begins dressing, only fumbling a little on the button cuffs due to lack of practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four minutes and forty seconds later the profiler is dashing to his couch with socks and shoes in hand, missing Gil’s bemused expression as he is so focused on his task. The older man would have waited longer for him, but seeing Malcolm run around with such energy is something that Gil was yet to see after his rescue. A purpose was just what Bright needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple of curses due to unruly shoelaces Malcolm was dressed for the occasion. A hint of the cocky profiler was beginning to emerge, and there was a very good chance an investigation would tease more of the old Bright out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Gil poses it as a question, but the determined look on Malcolm’s face gives him all the information he needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go solve a murder.” Malcolm grins and extends an arm to Gil to head for the door. Once Gil’s back is turned the profiler squares his shoulders and strides after the man who saved him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time to start repaying that debt, saving one life at a time. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, I hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as I did writing it. If you would like to continue to scream about season 2 you can find me on the Discord PSon Trash Server (18+).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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